


Light and Air, Blood and Stone

by Krimsonkitsu



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Canon Rewrite, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9812756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krimsonkitsu/pseuds/Krimsonkitsu
Summary: Charles and Erik meet at the cusp of adulthood, carrying the burdens of two very different worlds, but united by a single goal... or so they think.





	1. Give Me You Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched the first X-men movie again for the first time in what has to be a decade and I can't help be fascinated by the past between Charles and Erik that was hinted. According to the Professor, they met when he was 17, which is a good deal earlier than First class. I wanted to play with the idea of the two men meeting at such a raw time in their lives and how that relationship might have developed. 
> 
> Also, this chapter and probably others will have mentions of the Holocaust simply because for Erik, it is still very much at the forefront of his mind. And I feel like ignoring it would ignore a great deal of what makes Erik who he is.

~xXx~April 14th, 1949~xXx~  
It was raining, funny how it always seemed to be raining nowadays. The water poured down in great angry sheets, as the wind raged. Most of the other passengers had retreated into the bowels of the ship, doing what they could to ride out the storm. But not him. 

He stood on the bow of the ship, shivering as his wasted body was buffeted by the rain and wind. Even years after the war, the ghetto, the camps… food had been scarce. Post-war Germany had been almost as dire of a hell as the war, and the Red Army soldiers were hardly more sympathetic than German soldiers. But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was what rose up from the dark depths of the storm, the very thing that had kept him out in the icy downpour. Even in the darkness, he could pick out the pale green of the weathered copper, the folds of her sculpted robes, the torch held aloft. 

She was beautiful, even around the grim backdrop, just as he knew she would be. He leaned against the metal railing his eyes glued the figure. He’d seen pictures before, heard the stories as his father told them over dinner of a land across the ocean, far from the old wars, of a land where capitalism, not Imperialism, was the driving power. Where a man could make his own way, regardless of the circumstances in which he was born. Where there were no Nuremberg laws. The boy had listened, but with the same detachment as he had about fairytales told to himself and his sister as they fell asleep. America sounded just as fantastic to his young ears. 

And now he was knocking at her proverbial gates. 

He should be happy, he supposed. To have escaped the graveyard that was Europe; it was nothing short of a miracle. He should have been happy, ecstatic even. And he probably would have been, if happiness didn’t feel as far away as those nighttime stories told by a man who no longer existed. By the man whose very name had been wiped from history. Whose body had disappeared and mingled with the ashes of millions of others, to be carried off by the wind and dispersed over an unfamiliar Polish landscape. 

~xXx~  
The rain showed no signs of letting up, the raindrops echoing through the empty manor. Not that Charles heard any of it as he slept. No, the rain that resonated in his mind came down on a very different scene, on a boy huddled under a jacket that was far too thin for the weather, his face aged by the gauntness of his cheeks and the past horrors reflected in his deep set eyes. Charles had heard about the events in Europe, had seen the newsreels, the pictures, the reports so macabre that it was hard to believe. He’d seen the chimneys, the pits filled with skeletal pale limbs and dark hair. He had struggled to pronounce the alien names that soon became terrifyingly familiar as more and more reports filtered across the Atlantic. Chelmno, Treblinka, Belzec, Majdanek… Auschwitz-Birkenau… Charles had seen the pictures, but nothing compared him for the images he’d seen playing behind those haunted eyes. Even staring at the Statue of Liberty, the symbol of hope for countless of travelers, refugees, and immigrants, the boy’s mind couldn’t escape the barbed wire and roughshod barracks. 

Charles mind couldn’t escape either. He could feel the whispers of the boy’s fellow passengers, their excitement; their nervous anticipation all seemed to congeal into one larger consciousness. But Charles remained with the boy, as though his psyche was a black hole in which Charles couldn’t escape. He was at once struck with an overwhelming pity and a powerful fascination for this boy. The boy who dared to brave the ongoing squall to face the symbol of the land he was arriving on. Whose mind, unlike so many nearby, was filled not with plans, but with images, with the only proof that he had once been human, rather than a reminder of atrocity. It was strange, and almost overwhelming to be so immediately immersed in such immense memories. 

There was only one new thought that Charles could latch onto, a single name that repeated in the boy’s mind in a sharp staccato. It wasn’t his name. Charles was sure of that. And yet the boy repeated it so much, his lips forming around the words as though they were trying to memorize the feel of them, so that they didn’t feel foreign when he needed them. So that they sounded as though they had been with him his entire life. Charles watched his trembling lips repeat themselves, though the sound of the storm, but it was the look in his eyes that caught the telepath’s attention. There was a determination in them, a cold steel that seemed to run through them as he practiced the alias that was meant to distance himself from a past too painful to remember and too important to forget.

And when Charles woke up with a start, it was with the name “Erik Lehnsherr” echoing in his mind. Outside of his window, the storm still raged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Erik needs a hobby... come to think of it so does Charles.


	2. Farewell, My Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has a strange encounter with an even stranger volunteer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because yay history: In the first X-men movie, Erik mentioned that he first saw the Statue of Liberty in 1949. Most likely he was able to come to the US as result of Truman’s Displaced Persons Act, passed in 1948 which allowed for an additional 202,000 people to immigrate to the US, beyond the annual quota of official immigrants. Who said fanfics can’t be educational?

~xXx~ May 31st 1949~xXx~

All told, it wasn’t such a bad place to be imprisoned. Erik sat in the windowsill next to his bed, watching as the sun pouring through the blinds, sending its golden light dancing over white washed walls. Sure, they didn’t call it a prison. Instead the nurses and brisk men with slicked hair and crisp white coats insisted that this was a hospital. He was there to recover, to regain his health. Whatever they wanted to tell him, Erik knew better. He was not allowed leave, he was at the whims of the staff. It was a prison. However, he couldn’t deny that there were perks. 

Mainly the food. 

God there was so much food. Erik had been eight years old when they’d first been taken from his home in Munich and tossed in with the rest of the starving, beaten masses in Warsaw. Nine years, he’d gone without a true meal, nine years he’d lived in a state of constant starvation. Even after the war, food was a luxury, one that few survivors of Auschwitz could come by. But now, there were three full meals a day. At first they were small, mostly bread and broth so not to overwhelm his system. But as the days went by, the food became more substantive. And now, there were stews and meat, and actual vegetables! Erik couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something green that hadn’t been grass. And coffee… Erik had never had coffee. Sure there had been some strange dark liquid at the camps that had been termed “coffee” but here? It was rich and the warmth of it clung to Erik’s chest long after he’d finished the cup. And there was even cream! Real cream. Even the wealthy in Germany had trouble finding cream after the war. America really was the land of plenty. 

He was going to leave. That was never a question. While it might have been a comfortable prison, it was a prison nonetheless and Erik had only too recently gained freedom. No one was going to take it away again. And so Erik Lehnsherr, waited. He ate, and he complied, and he was a model patient, and he waited. It was only a matter of time before he was strong enough to set out on his own, and then—

“Oh!” There was a clatter, and Erik jumped as he heard the metal tray crash to the tiled floor. He looked back from the window to see a boy, probably around his age, drop to his feet to frantically collect the various utensils and cups as they scattered, trying to catch them before they rolled under any of the other beds that were set up in the great hall. He watched on for a moment, eying the boy as he scrambled. Though he was slim, it was clear that it was not due to any stint of malnourishment or hardship. His skin was supple and unbroken, and his chestnut hair shone thick and glossy. His sweater was finely woven and his patent leather shoes were immaculately polished. He looked up at Erik, and Erik couldn’t help but notice the two brightly colored eyes which were set above delicate cheekbones and framed by high arching brows. The overall effect gave the boy a naturally inquisitive look. He gave Erik a sheepish smile. 

“Mind helping a fellow out?” His voice was softly accented, though Erik could hear the unmistakable American tones running through it. New England, if he had to guess, though he someone who had clearly spent at least a few years abroad in Britain. Erik always had an ear for languages, and accents. Before the Cattle Trains, he had learned English, and French, and Italian, dreaming of the day when he could see the world. After the war, while his world lay in ashes, he’d spent a great number of time in DP camps talking to the various American soldiers that had been stationed to “guard the residents for their own protection.” He’d had gained a lot of experience with a number of American dialects this way, exchanging conversation for the occasional chocolate or additional piece of bread. He blinked back into the present, with the boy's eyes fixated on his, clearly waiting for an answer

“Sure.” Abandoning his perch on the windowsill, Erik knelt down beside the boy, deftly collecting the cutlery and carefully piling it back on the platter. He took the platter and balanced it in his left hand as he offered the stranger his right hand to help him up. The boy took it gratefully and got to his feet, brushing off his khakis. 

“Thank you, friend.” He said with an easy laugh, brushing his wavy hair back from his face. Erik couldn’t help but notice the way those sky-blue eyes swept over his body, as though he was studying Erik. Erik’s discomfort must had shown plainly on his face, because the boy grimaced. 

“Sorry, how rude of me,” he laughed again and extended a hand out to Erik. “Name’s Charles. Charles Xavier. It’s a pleasure.”

Erik’s brows raised incredulously. He hadn’t arrived at that conclusion just yet. Still he slipped his hand into Charles’ and gave it a curt shake. “My name is Erik Lehnserr.” He’d been practicing, the name rolled off of his tongue naturally now. Charles’ grin widened, and Erik actually felt like he had to avert his eyes, staring at a smile like that felt a bit like looking directly into the sun and it made both his eyes and chest ache. 

“Erik then!” Charles clapped his hands together, looking positively delighted. Erik gave him an unimpressed look before holding out the platter for him to take. 

“…What exactly are you doing here?” He asked bluntly, more to direct attention back off of himself than out of any real curiousity. “You’re certainly not a patient, and you don’t strike me as a doctor.” 

“Really? Why not?” Charles’ head tilted as he took the platter. “Why don’t you think of me as a Doctor?”

“You’re too young for one,” Erik replied, feeling the first twinges of irritation. Did this boy think he was an idiot? “And I’ve yet to see any doctor around here carry anything more than a clipboard and a stethoscope.”

Charles laughed in delight, as though Erik had just told some particularly witty joke. The problem was, Erik didn’t see just what was so funny. 

“You have a good point,” Charles conceded. “I’m a volunteer. Figured I might as well use my holiday for something useful.” 

“Holiday?”

“I’m a university student. We’re out for the summer so I figured I should go out and actually be a part of the world for a change, rather than stay shut up in a library.” He shrugged his shoulders. 

“…You’d be better off in the library,” Erik replied bitterly. “The world is shit.” 

Charles, to his credit didn’t try to probe deeper into Erik’s last comment, but rather latched onto the first. “Do you like to read?” 

“I did.” Erik wasn’t lying there. As a boy, he preferred the worlds crafted on paper to the world around him. His mother helped run a bookshop, back when his people were allowed to own things and he’d spent many days curled up amongst the bookshelves. 

“What did you read?” 

It was an innocuous question and yet… for the life of him, Erik didn’t have an answer. What did he read? All he could remember was the smell of leather, the warmth of his mother’s voice as she conducted business—

Erik didn’t realize that he was crying until Charles stepped back, a dawning look of horror mixed with a strange sort of understanding on his face. Erik hastily rubbed at his eyes, angry with himself. It had been a long time since he’d let himself get lost in a memory of the past and he’d gone and showed weakness to a damned stranger. 

Charles, on his part, managed to regain his own composure, a polite smile on his lips. “You look tired, Erik. You should get to some rest.” He juggled the platter to glance at his watch and snorted. “And I should get back to work before my boss yells at me again.” 

Erik wasn’t tired, but he wasn’t about to pass up a chance to escape this strange new boy. His cheerfulness was almost painful to be around. “It was nice to meet you, Charles Xavier.”

“Same to you, Erik Lehnsherr.” Charles nodded his head with a smile. “Take care of yourself.”

Erik didn’t even have a chance to respond before the boy was off again, disappearing down towards the kitchens with a jaunty wave. Erik just shook his head and settled back into his spot by the window again.

“Charles Xavier…” He murmured the name, almost without realizing he’d done it. 

~xXx~  
The next morning came too early for Erik. He woke with a groan and sat up, rubbing at his eyes as if with enough pressure, he could blot out the dreams that still rankled behind his eyelids. He glanced back towards the nightstand, only to frown at the new addition adorning it. His hand reached over to pick up the book, marveling at the feel of it in his hand. It felt both comfortingly familiar and wholly alien at the same time. As he turned it over to read the cover, Erik couldn’t help but snort as he read the title. 

_Farewell, My Lovely._

It seemed this Charles Xavier had a sense of humor. 

~xXx~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Farewell, My Lovely is a detective novel written by Raymond Chandler and was published in 1940. Outside of Charles using the title as a pithy joke, it makes sense that he’d want to leave Erik with a tawdry murder mystery that took place in California. That way Erik can get lost in a book without constant reminders about his past. 
> 
> Also, the two of them meeting in a hospital is a nod to the comics. Charles, following a breakup and returning from the Korean war, decides to travel the world and ends up volunteering in a hospital in Haifa, dedicated to Holocaust victims who are struggling with life after liberation. There he meets Erik, going by the name of Magnus at the time. It’s a really fascinating story in its own right, but I couldn’t really explain why teenaged Charles would end up in Israel. So I kept the spirit of the idea and airlifted the hospital to New York. Creative License is a heck of a thing.  
> ~~~
> 
> Next up: Two can play at that game, Charles.


	3. Chasing Windmills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys settle into a routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of book references. Personally I can't stand Hemingway, but I can't deny that he seems like exactly the type of author Erik would be drawn to. It's actually been pretty fun picking out books that the boys would enjoy. 
> 
> The Razor's Edge and The Stranger are actually both really interesting books, but only if you're partial to existentialism, which I feel like Charles would be fascinated by. Existentialism really hit its stride in the years following WW2, and continued well into present day, spawning many counterculture movements. Existentialism takes many forms, but many boil down to the idea that there are no overarching greater meaning to the universe other than the ones we define.
> 
> ...I have a real problem with being a nerd... anyway please enjoy.

~xXx~ June 1949~xXx~  
Life settled into an almost pleasant routine, with the appearance of Charles Xavier. Though Erik would never admit it, and certainly not to the boy. After their first meeting, Charles always made a point to stop by at the end of his shifts, usually with a kettle of tea and a book. For the first week, they actually said little to eachother, something Erik was both surprised by and immensely grateful for. They would read, Charles with some dense book on philosophy or the natural sciences, Erik with whatever book Charles had dropped off. It took him longer than he cared to admit to get back into the swing of reading again, the words didn’t come to him as easily as they did as a child, and more than a few times a reluctant Erik had to ask Charles to explain a word. The boy was surprisingly proficient in German, though his pronounciation was atrocious. 

“I am a scientist. If I want to get anywhere in my field German is a must.” He had explained and cleared his throat at the uncomfortable silence that followed. Neither decided to discuss the tangent of German science any further. 

Charles, to his credit, seemed to know exactly when to push and when to retreat. And in the beginning, he was simply a presence, a barrier against anyone who wished to bother Erik with incessant talk. Eventually, as the weeks went on, Charles began to abandon his textbooks and instead choose to indulge in the same books that he had given Erik. After the Chandler book, they read _The Stranger_ and _The Razor’s Edge_ , which Charles seemed to delight in and Erik found far too abstract. He preferred the nihilistic Hemingway and devoured _A Farewell to Arms_ and _For Whom The Bell Tolls_ , books which Charles seemed mainly to tolerate for his sake. Erik wasn’t sure who started it, but it seemed to be the natural next step as the pair began reading passages aloud to each other. 

When Charles read, Erik would usually sit on his usual perch by the window, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth of the sun on his face as Charles’ calm and measured voice washed over him. Charles wanted to be a professor, and Erik could easily imagine him lecturing in some great hall with a voice like that. There was something soothing about his voice, something that could wash away the darkness that ate away at Erik’s psyche. 

When Erik read allowed, he allowed his natural flair for the dramatic to the forefront. Charles, who could only ever sound like himself, would clap in delight as Erik’s voice took on the silken tones of a Frenchman, the warm accent of an Italian, the clipped tones of the Swiss. Erik read with the same intensity and Charles (as well as a few nearby patients) would sit enraptured through his readings. 

“That was marvelous!” Charles replied at the end of their last session, beaming as Erik closed the book with a satisfied grin on his face. “You should be actor, Erik! You have a talent for it!”

“I was an actor,” Erik replied, the jovial look in his eyes seeping away. His ability to mimic accents and mannerisms were honed out of necessity. Even after the war, no one really wanted to help a Jew. It was easier to melt away, to become someone else. 

Charles just sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Erik. I didn’t mean…”

Erik brushed away his apology with a dismissive wave. For some reason, seeing dismay in Charles’ eyes made his chest tighten in a most uncomfortable way. “It’s not important, Charles.”

Charles gave him a sheepish smile. “Yes it is, my friend.” He replied softly. “But that doesn’t mean we have to talk about it now.” He turned his attention back to the kettle and poured them both another cup, handing Erik his with a smile. “Will you accept my peace offering?”

Erik smirked and took his cup with a nod, grabbing a few cubes of sugar and the cream. While he didn’t particularly like the sickly sweetness of it all, he relished the luxury. Charles, on the other hand, loaded his tea with sugar and cream without a trace of irony. Erik couldn’t help but wonder how he remained so slight, after catching just a glimpse of his dietary habits. 

Charles was not the only volunteer at the hospital. But he was one of the very few who didn’t crane to catch a glimpse at crude numbers scrawled on Erik’s forearm. Who didn’t try to probe into the past ten years, or treat him like some fragile creature. And for that, Erik couldn’t help but like the boy. 

Likewise, Charles ventured precious little about his past either, and Erik didn’t try to pry. It was obvious that the boy came from money. Old money at that. His clothes, though practical, were clearly high end, and his bearing was as proper as Erik imagined the old nobles. He was certain of his place in the world, and it showed in every word he spoke and in every movement he made. 

If neither seemed to be interested in the past, both boys made up for it with a shared obsession of the future. 

“Once I graduate Oxford, I’m going to teach. Education is what will save us, what will propel us into the future of mankind.” Charles said, his eyes lighting up in his passion. Erik watched him, smirking as he leaned his head on his hand. He wasn’t nearly as convinced in the saving graces of academia as his companion. But he also couldn’t bring himself to put a damper on Charles’ enthusiasm. At least he didn’t intend to; his mouth had very different ideas. 

“Education… religion… national pride… all can be dangerous in the wrong hands, Charles.” He pointed out. “Be careful. Education and scientific advances may well propel us into the future. But is it a future we want to live in?” 

Charles glowered at him. “Do you consider me ‘the wrong hands?’”

“No. but you are only one man, and an idealist at that.” Erik replied simply. “One man cannot turn the course of history, not unless he has a movement behind him.”

“One man can spark a movement, as long as he has the right tools.” Charles pointed out. 

“Sure. But you are talking about a movement based on reason, on facts.”

“Of course I am.” 

“Movements are built on emotions, Charles. Fear, pride, self-preservation.” Erik smiled bitterly, leaning forward. “Humans are not hard to understand, they are little more than beasts, fearing the unexplained noise, the nameless predator in the dark.”

Charles expression fell and suddenly he looked so much older than his years. “Oh Erik… do you really have so little faith in humanity?”

Erik actually laughed, a cold mirthless thing. “Can you blame me?”

Charles hesitated as though he was carefully picking out his next words. He was on a dangerous tightrope and he knew it. “No, my friend. I can’t. But… humans can be better. We can learn. We can evolve. I have to believe that there is hope for the future of mankind.”

There was a strange look in Erik’s eyes as he nodded. “Yes… there is hope for the future.” 

And for the first time, Charles looked at him with wariness in his eyes, as though he was seeing Erik for first time. 

And perhaps he was. 

~xXx~  
The next day, when Charles arrived to Erik’s cot, he didn’t find his friend, just a battered book that must have come from the hospital’s meager library. Charles, his face paling, completed a quick sweep of the hospital, only to feel Erik’s presence out in the courtyard, playing cards with a few of the other patients. With a sigh that was at once relieved and a bit hurt, Charles turned to leave, only to notice the paper with his name scrawled over the top of it, pinned by the book. 

He pulled the note free, glancing at the message written in Erik’s unmistakably sharp handwriting. _Society is not kind to Idealists, my friend._ Charles turned his attention back to the book, noticing the title for the first time. 

_Don Quixote_ stared accusingly back at the boy. 

It appeared society wasn’t the only one who had little patience for idealists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even into the 60's a lot of cutting edge medical and scientific papers were written in German, so it makes sense that Charles would learn German in order to be able to read them, just as it makes sense that Erik would feel pretty queasy about any mention of German Science. Prior to the rise of the Nazi party, Germany had been world renowned as the birthplace of modern medicine. As Hitler took power, the medical community was emptied of all but those loyal to the party, and science became just another dark tool to justify their atrocities. 
> 
> I debated whether or not Erik would know enough about Don Quixote to be able to throw it in Charles' face. I finally decided that while he probably hadn't read it, his mother owned a book store and he'd probably heard it referenced enough to catch the gist of it. Hopefully that's not too much of a stretch. 
> 
> ~~~  
> Next up: "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."


	4. A Path Diverged?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik believes their time together has drawn to a close, Charles has other ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God... I hope you don't hate this chapter. I'm so bad a writing fight scenes.... please forgive me.

~July 1st 1949~

Erik couldn’t help but be amazed by the immensity of the city. He was by no means a stranger to urban living, but even life in Berlin couldn’t hold a candle to the maze of sky scrappers and crush of humanity that made up New York City. Everything was so very new, the metal and windows of the buildings gleaming as they reached out like fingers outstretched towards heaven. If he looked up at them too intently, he couldn’t help but feel a little dizzy. Even the sky had been consumed by the city, with only scant scraps visible between the sky scrappers.

And then there was the heat. Erik couldn’t remember such a heat. The air hung thick and oppressive. The smell of exhaust mingled with the scent of millions of bodies and the combination made Erik’s head spin. For a brief moment, he considered simply returning to the hospital. It was cool and it was quiet and… Erik swallowed and closed his, trying to rid himself of the temptation. Even the most comforting prison was still a prison. Even when that prison contained the first friend Erik had made in years. Yes, Charles had been a friend, a nice distraction while he was recuperating, but now? Now Erik had recovered and Charles would be off, back to his books and his thesis and his idealism. And Erik had his own goals, one that the posh American could never understand. Yes, their roads diverged, as they inevitably would. There was no reason to believe that they would see each other again, now that they had lost that common bond. Now Erik could have gone through the motions: a long drawn out goodbye, leaving with Charles’ address in his pocket, promises of visits that would never happen… but what would be the point? It was easier just to disappear, that way their last conversation would be at least be something authentic, not some insincere platitudes, a smattering of inauthentic promises, or cheap recycled words. He respected Charles too much for that. 

No, he couldn’t go back; that much was certain. Erik sighed. He needed to find a place to think, to plan out his next move. He was free, but now what? Now he had to get on with process of living, and to do that, he needed a job, and a place to stay. Looking around, he spotted a quiet alley, with only a few other weary souls inhabiting it. The building cast it’s massive shadow, providing a shelter from the sun and most passerby didn’t pay the alley or its inhabitants a second thought. Perfect. He knelt down, back pressed against a wall of ancient bricks as he pulled out the paper of suggested employment. At least the hospital had been nice enough to give him some pointers with his discharge papers. Now he just had to find these places. Erik wasn’t too worried, he was young, and, thanks to the hospital, hearty. He just had to find a rhythm, a routine to settle into…

“Oh… oh thank God, there you are!” Charles’ voice cut through his reverie. Erik looked up, his eyes widening as they landed on that familiar frame, those startling blue eyes. He saw the boy, but he didn’t believe it. It was impossible that Charles had found him in this sea of humanity. Part of him couldn’t wonder if the heat had gone to his head. But Charles certainly seemed solid enough, sweat beading on his brow as he bent forward, one hand on his knee as the other attempted to massage the cramp in his side. He looked up and gave Erik that familiar lopsided smile of his and for a moment, Erik was at a loss for words. 

“Charles?” Erik had hoped something more articulate would come out when he finally regained the use of his voice. “How in the hell-?”

Charles grimaced, still kneading his side. “It certainly wasn’t easy, my friend…” He straightened, giving Erik a reproachful look. “You vanished without a word. I had to search half of Midtown to find you.”

That look was unfair. Erik looked away, feeling as though he was merely a pupil, chastised by his old schoolmaster. And he certainly felt sufficiently chastised. He frowned, the excuses feeling a bit lack luster as he met the gaze of the young man who had kept him company those last few weeks. Still, he said them anyway. 

“I thought it would be easier. You’re going back to school, I need to find a job… and a place to live. Neither of us really have time for drawn out goodbyes,” Erik said, as Charles slid down to sit beside him, breathing still ragged. They sat together in silence for a moment before Erik turned to look at his friend. “Did you run the whole time?”

The look Charles gave him in return was stinging. “Do you realize how big Midtown is?” 

Erik snorted at that. “Then you must be very lucky, to find me.” 

Charles laughed a bit breathlessly, leaning his head against the wall and pulling out a small handkerchief to blot at his damp forehead. “What can I say? I have a bit of a… talent for knowing where to look.” There was a strange tone in Charles’ voice, as though he had made a joke and Erik had missed the punch line. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but then again, Charles tended to have this innate air of being privy to information that no one else did. That tendency frustrated and fascinated Erik to no end. 

They were quiet for a long moment, the sounds of the city taking the place of a conversation. Erik finally looked back at Charles, who was in the process of pocketing his handkerchief. 

“Well, you found me… so now what?” Erik asked, his brow raised incredulously. “Why go to all the trouble of tracking me down?”

Charles blinked, looking back to Erik. “I sort of thought that would have been obvious.” He replied, matter of factly.

“What’s obvious?” Came the flat response. 

“I tracked you down to offer you a place to stay.” Charles said with a shrug. “I have a place, not too far from here, and since I’ll be heading back to Cambridge soon, I thought you might like to use it until you figure out what to do next.”

“What?” Erik asked, dumbfounded.

“Stay at my place.” Charles reiterated patiently. “I could use someone to help keep an eye on it, and you could use a place to say, you said it yourself. It seems like a good deal.”

Erik shook his head. “But…” Sure, they had spent some time together, but they were still little more than strangers, and yet Charles had tracked him down and was offering Erik a chance to stay in his place? That didn’t make sense.

Charles’ gaze grew softer, more understanding. “Erik, you’ve had enough hardship, and as difficult as it may be to grasp right now, there are good people in the world. People who genuinely want to help.” His voice was gentle.

“And you’re one of those ‘good people’?” Erik couldn’t help the bit of venom seeping into his voice. 

“Heavens no!” Charles corrected with a laugh that echoed through the alley. “I’m an opportunist and a pragmatist above all else. This is a mutually beneficial situation.”

“I don’t believe you.” Erik replied. “You strike me as hopeless optimist with a bleeding heart and a softness for lost causes.”

Charles sobered in a heartbeat. “Oh Erik… you are hardly a lost cause.”

He couldn’t help but snort at that. “I think you’re being pretty charitable in your estimation of me, my friend.”

Charles, opened his mouth, eager to retort. But whatever witticism he had planned died in his throat as a shift in his periphery caught his eye. He looked over to see two burly men with ragged clothes and a dangerous malice in their gaze. 

He gave them a polite smile. “Good afternoon, chaps. Can I help you?” Despite his pleasant tone, his body was tensed. Erik saw the two men and his heart sank, realizing he had nothing to defend himself with. How foolish could he be, to be caught so unprepared, so vulnerable?

“Well… since y’seem to be in such a… ‘charitable’ mood. We figured you could hand over your wallets… and that handsome little watch of yours.” The larger of the two replied with a grin, stepping forward.

“I’m afraid I must decline.” Charles replied, his voice perfectly steady. “This watch belonged to my grandfather.”

The two strangers exchanged a look and laughed, a cold and malicious sound that sent chills down Erik’s spine. He’d heard that kind of laugh before, had heard the guards laugh like that as they mowed down his people. 

“We weren’t askin’.” The second man said, pulled a wicked looking blade from his overalls, the metal gleaming, even in the dim light of the alley. Erik looked to the streets where the commuters still thronged the streets. The man must have caught the gist of his thoughts because he laughed again. “Don’t even bother screaming for help, we’ll slit your throats before you could even try.” He said, holding his hand out to Charles. “Now, give me th’watch.” 

Charles was still smiling. How could he still be smiling? Not that it mattered. Erik grit his teeth as Charles was carefully undoing the clasp to his watch. He’d seen enough of thugs taking cherished heirlooms, that wasn’t something that was going to happen here. Here was supposed to be different. 

Without warning, Erik leapt at the larger man, a cry of rage on his lips. He landed a blow to the man’s head, but it barely seemed to affect him. Instead his meaty hand latched tight to Erik’s arm, and the man sent Erik flying. He hit the opposing wall, the force of the impact punching the air from his lungs. Erik slid to the ground, the world around him seeming decidedly more muffled than before. He watched dazed as Charles clambered to his feet, thought he heard his name being called. Charles surged forward, trying to push past the man to get to his friend, only to be roughly pushed back. He glared at the man and aimed a sharp kick to the shins.

The man's yelp broke through the haze in Erik's mind, snapping him roughly back into the present.

"You little bastard!" The man with the knife raised it, intent on finding purchase in the boy curled up before him. Erik’s insides twisted and time seemed to slow. There was no conscious thought in his mind, no plan or strategy. There was just the fact that Charles was in danger, and the knowledge that Erik could do something about it. 

The man’s hand swung forward, but it moved through the air alone. Above him, the knife hung motionless in the air, as if held in place by some invisible string. Charles and the two men both stared at it, their expressions nearly identical in their shock. Charles was the first to look to Erik, holding onto the wall behind him for support with his other arm outstretched towards the blade. His gaze met Erik's as his lips formed a silent “Oh,” though Erik couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking.

The thoughts of the two men were far easier to read as they backed away, ashen faced. “H-How did you…” the larger man said, eyes darting between Erik and the levitating blade. 

“He’s… he’s a monster…” his partner breathed. As one they turned, quick to beat a hasty retreat, no doubt to report Erik and his actions to the nearest authorities. Erik felt a wave of fear himself at the thought. He’d exposed himself, and now... how long would it be before he was tracked down? The knife clattered to the ground as Erik sunk to his knees, his mouth going dry at the thought of more labs, more tests, more cruel men in white coats with clipboards and pointed tools. 

“Stop!” The voice came out of nowhere, a strange resonance underlaying the normally mild tone of Charles Xavier.

Erik looked up in confusion, only to see the two men freeze. He glanced back to Charles, standing just behind the men, his fingers pressed to his temple. He twirled his free hand and the would-be muggers turned in tandem with it, their eyes glassy and unfocused. If Erik didn’t know any better he’d swear that they had been… he focused his gaze back at Charles, the realization hitting him with astounding clarity. 

Erik almost couldn’t believe it. He had always thought he was alone, a sole aberration. And yet, there was no denying what he was seeing. Charles Xavier could bend minds the way he bent iron. 

“Now, Gentlemen,” Charles replied cheerfully, his fingers still on his temple, “you will forget what happened here, you will forget the face of myself and of my dear friend over there.” He gestured to Erik and the two nodded mutely. “Wonderful! Now be on your way and be the good law abiding citizens I know you can be.” He flicked his wrist and the men wandered out into the street, rapidly melting into the crowd. 

The silence that followed their disappearance was deafening. Charles finally lowered his hand and set about the task of brushing himself off and taking his time to smooth the wrinkles in his slacks before finally turning back to Erik, who was still gazing at him, dumbfounded. He revisited each other their interactions, searching his memory for any clues that might have hinted at such a revelation. Sure, there had been an air about Charles, one that seemed to suggest that he knew more than he was letting on... apparently there was a reason for it.

Charles was the first to break the silence. “Well,” he said with a beatific smile, “I always knew I couldn’t be the only one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I hope you were able to make sense of that mess... hopefully the next chapter makes up for it.
> 
> Next up: Charles may have left out a few details about his place and Erik almost gets them both killed (for the first time).


End file.
